Amy Ella Blanchard

A Dear Little Girl's Summer Holidays Amy Ella Blanchard

It was a very warm morning in June. Edna and her friend Dorothy Evans were sitting under the trees trying to keep cool. They both wore their thinnest morning frocks and had pinned their hair up in little pug knots on the tops of their heads. They had their boxes of pieces and were trying to make something suitable for their dolls to wear in the hot weather. "It's too sticky to sew," said Dorothy, throwing down her work. "Marguerite will have to go without a frock and sit around in her skin." "You mean in her kid," returned Edna. "Well, isn't kid skin?" asked Dorothy. Edna laughed. "Why, yes, I suppose it is, and Ben says we are kids, so our skin is kid skin. Oh, dear, it is hot. I wish I were a fish; it would be so nice to go slipping through the cool water." "Yes, but it wouldn't be so nice to be in a frying pan sizzling over a fire." "I feel almost as if I were doing that now. There comes the postman, I wonder if he has a letter from Jennie. We promised one another we would always write on blue paper because blue is true, you know, and that looks as if it might be a blue letter the postman has on top. I'm going to see." "I'll wait here," returned Dorothy. "It's too hot to move." She sat fanning herself with the lid of her piece box, watching her friend the while. Once or twice Edna stopped on her way back, and finally she began to dance up and down, then ran toward Dorothy, calling out, "Oh, there's a lovely something to tell you. Oh, I do hope it can come true." "What is it?" cried Dorothy, roused out of her listlessness.